Of Which Poets May Sing
by lunawannabe
Summary: Far and wide its story is sung, but few know the entire story of the Tree never able to join in the dances it shaped, the Tree on which Narnia was built, the Tree of Protection.


In the first seconds of my life, I gave an apple. I had enough to spare, and was happy to give this small part of myself. I never learned until much later that with this simple action of letting gravity run its course I set events into motion which would end with the heralding in of Narnia's Golden Age.

My only gift of which the poets will ever sing is the nine hundred year protection I gave. I spread out tendrils of energy able to keep the enemies at bay, and gave life to a forest green and lush, whose summer dances were known with wide renown. And though I was never able to join in these dances myself, I watched as the forest danced nights away, as rivers ran with wine, as visitors were driven wild by the music and never left. All were welcome, though the few people who tried to stop the dances never stayed long.

My braches often stayed heavy with grape vines all summer, and in other months they served as havens for small creatures fallen desperately in love, or for old gossips hoping to catch a glimpse of something worth reporting.

These were the days of Green and Purple, colors valued even higher than gold, when kings and queens danced as wildly as their subjects, except, of course, when they were wilder. Perhaps in the Golden Age creatures lived without fear, but in this age the creatures lived with almost no knowledge of fear; fear was ranked amongst Neevils and mulch in terms of what was worth thinking about.

But the giving of my all couldn't last, and slowly I began to decline. I couldn't give enough anymore, and the Neevil knew it. Things started to creep in, things no one had any name for, and they further soiled the forest, for as I faded the forest went with me.

The first thing caused by these new Things were food shortages, as they loved to ravage fields and orchards. The good beasts most often affected were the tiny ones unable to compete with the larger, for the forest was now becoming a land of creatures only concerned with them and theirs. These shortages were what drove a tiny, half-starved hare under my braches, looking up at my apples wistfully but with no real hope of getting one.

But I still had energy for this, and was happy to still have some use. I dropped juicy apples all around him, which he ate quickly, looking nervously about him all the while, and then hopped on.

I never saw him again, but I heard tales of an orphaned hare who rose from near-starvation to being a spy for the White Queen because of his abnormally excellent hearing. Though I never learned what became of my (as I liked to call him) hare, I like to believe he was the famous Moonwood, who countless times warned of attacks in enough advance to give the armies a fighting chance.

But even with the valiant efforts of the Hare, the Neevil quickly took control. The first thing she did was take an axe to my trunk. She did it herself, relishing in each stroke, in each gorge she cut into me, knowing that when I fell the forest would be hers. Each blow was tortuous, and when she struck her last and I fell the pain was almost unbearable. I was left to rot on the forest floor, not granted the honor even of being made into a wardrobe like my twin in Somewhere Else.

I was too weak to do almost anything except think, and even that I wasn't sure how much longer could last. But _I was alive._

I lay for a hundred years, frozen and preserved by the Constant Winter caused by the Neevil now known as the White Witch,-whose chosen title mocked the former Queen-kept from rotting by the blanket of snow and ice. Until one day, when a little faun stumbled over me. He rejoiced, for, as I learned later, he hated having to chop trees in which he knew dryads slept. He returned the next day, and I was chopped up and piled unceremoniously beside his cave. When he touched me, I could see his thoughts. I learned of whom he was and of his horrible assignment, which might mean the end of what little forest still had any trace of Green and Purple.

For I knew of the prophecy, as the stars participated in their own Great Dance they sang of past and future, and of humans-a species all but extinct- who would restore Narnia to Nearly Green and Purple and get rid of this infernal winter.

Then one day, one came. Bits of me had been burned away, but my heart, the only part of me still truly alive, was intact. I was there when the faun had the perfect opportunity to complete his assignment and receive rewards beyond all others. I was there, burning in his hearth fire, watching as the little Queen eagerly listened to the faun as he told her tales of an age I helped create, that he truly knew nothing of, being Winter Born. I fueled the fire he charmed into shapes that leaped and twirled and stomped to the tune of every note he played.

And as I died, the last of my energy took the form of a lion, which gave a tremendous roar that scared the faun enough to make him rethink.

_**oooooooooooooo**_

_**Thoughts? All reviews are appreciated, loved, savored etc.**_


End file.
